


Four

by turps



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen, picfor1000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-02
Updated: 2011-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 01:10:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the picfor1000 challenge on live journal. A challenge to write a story in exactly 1000 words based on a picture prompt.</p><p><a href="http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v240/turps332/?action=view&current=129152966_a90b0853be.jpg">
<br/><img/></a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Four

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to themoononastick and sperrywink for beta reading.

When Mikey changes forms it’s never a shock.

In fact, suddenly having a dog for a brother is a nice change in routine. Or a hamster-brother. Even the sister-brother was okay. A few days with Mikey milling around Gerard’s feet or taking up space in his pocket or heading off to the bathroom to ‘explore’ and things go back to normal. It’s how it’s always been.

Until the time it doesn’t feel normal anymore. When one morning Mikey pulls back the curtain of Gerard’s bunk and says, “It’s happened again.”

At least Gerard thinks that it’s Mikey. It sounds like him -- if Gerard goes back in time and matches the voice to stored memories of skinned knees, sticky fingers and a gap-toothed smile.

“Mikey?” Gerard asks, and when he pries open his eyes all he sees are two tiny hands clutched over the side of the bunk. “The fuck?”

“I’m a kid,” Mikey says, the hands disappearing from view. “A fucking kid.”

“Language.” It’s an automatic response and Gerard’s horrified at himself as he rolls over in his bunk, peering over the side at Mikey. Because, seriously, he’s channelling their _mom_.

Except, this Mikey is tiny. His hair ruffled up in unruly spikes, and his feet bare, a ragged robot band-aid wrapped around one of his toes. Mikey’s also staring at Gerard, and the soft roundness of his face does little to disguise his unimpressed look. “Remember when you tried to feed me kibble when I was a dog?”

Gerard rubs at his wrist, says slowly, “Yeah.”

“Good.” A last look and Mikey turns and heads toward the kitchenette, the hem of the t-shirt he was wearing last night trailing on the floor behind him. “You need to make me a coffee, I can’t reach the fucking machine.”

Concerned, Gerard pulls on his pants, and rolls out of his bunk, hitting the floor with a thud. “I don’t think caffeine’s good for kids. Maybe....”

“I’m the size of my bass, have hands like a howler monkey and couldn’t reach the toilet to piss this morning,” Mikey says, and he crosses his arms over the gaping neckline of his t-shirt as he stares up at Gerard. “I need coffee.”

“That doesn’t make sense, you’ve a different body,” Gerard points out and crouches so they’re at the same height. “This one isn’t addicted.”

“My brain’s the same,” Mikey says. “And that’s addicted.”

Gerard shakes his head, because even if this is Mikey, it’s Mikey in a tiny, easily damaged package. Adding caffeine isn’t even an option. “No coffee.”

Mikey’s eyes are wide and watery, his bottom lips quivering as he says, “But I want it.”

Which is playing unfair, and no way is Gerard giving in to such blatant manipulation. To prove that he looks away, seeking distraction. “You can have milk instead.”

“I hate milk,” Mikey says, any trace of tears erased as he stalks to the counter and jumps, his knees hitting the cupboard door and his fingertips sliding over the worktop. “I’ll get it myself.”

Gerard gasps, and scoops up Mikey, holding him at arms length. “Are you fucking crazy? Do you want to be in hospital with first degree burns?”

Mikey remains rigid, glaring at Gerard, “I want my own body back.”

Gerard sets Mikey down, well away from the temptations of coffee. “You’ll get it. In a few days.”

“And until then?” Mikey asks, and boosts himself up onto the couch. With his knees tucked up close to his body, he frowns, and says, “I can’t be seen like this.”

“We can tell people you’re sick,” Gerard suggests, because Mikey’s right, unlike previous times when Frank gained an inexplicably skinny dog or when Gerard had to arrange emergency hamster housing, a kid can’t be seen on tour. Unless, “Or I could say that you’re mine.”

Mikey rolls his eyes, which is just weird under baby-fine brows. “Because you suddenly gaining a kid is better than people knowing I’m some kind of freak.”

“You’re not a freak,” Gerard says instantly, that’s something he’ll never allow to be said about Mikey, even if it is self-applied.

“A mutant then,” Mikey says with a shrug.

“That works.” It’s a distinction Gerard’s okay with, especially when mutants are always so awesome. Even though, yeah, this is the strangest change yet -- because while seeing a cat with Mikey’s eyes or a dog with awkward knees _is_ surreal, this is a Mikey Gerard knows, and right now it’s making him feel too big. Like he should be holding a juice box or lying on his belly in front of the TV and not debating yet another speech about body acceptance.

Gerard sits and hunches over, his hands tucked against his lap as he says, “You could be a cousin twice removed on mom’s side. We could say we’re taking you on tour to experience life.”

Mikey looks from Gerard’s hands up to his face, says slowly, “Or I could hide on the bus until I change back.”

It’s a simple plan, but Gerard has to concede it’s the best option. He sighs, says, “I’ll call Brian.”

“Then you can go buy me some clothes,” Mikey says, plucking at his t-shirt. “I feel like I’m wearing a dress.”

“You looked better in a dress,” Gerard says simply, and starts to stand, freezing when Mikey grabs hold of his hand.

“Not yet.” Mikey’s got his fingers wrapped around Gerard’s thumb, holding on tight as he says, “What time is it?”

Concerned at this unusual development, Gerard says, “You don’t know how to tell the time?”

“I’m not stupid.” Mikey wiggles to the edge of the couch and drops to the floor, looks up and stares significantly at Gerard. “It’s almost three. Cartoon time.”

Understanding hitting, Gerard takes two slow steps forward, Mikey holding on until they both kneel, and then lie on the floor. Side-by-by side, Mikey’s feet in the air and chin resting on his joined hands.

Gerard grins and turns on the TV.


End file.
